Thursday, July 2, 2009

It's a wet, wet world.

The statistic on today’s morning radio said it all: it’s rained 28 out of the last 30 days here in Maine.

.

Everyone—human and animal alike—is feeling the effects in his or her own way.

Meteorologists and historians are interested as can be. They talk about the unique stalled trough off the coast of New Brunswick that keeps pushing sea air onto the mainland, saturating Maine with omnipresent drizzle and humidity. They note that last month was the third rainiest June on record. It was also one of the coldest, with high temperatures rarely exceeding our normal lows.

The whitewater kayakers in our lives are thrilled, too, since they are able to run hidden creeks and streams normally reserved for winter snowmelt. Probably there are other tiny niches of people—ones with fins and webbed toes, I suspect—who are also happy to be occupying soup that puts even Seattle to shame.

But that doesn’t mean much if you’re a canine naturalist.

Ari is a dog driven by sun: it wakes her in the morning and pushes her outdoors in the evening. Without it, she snoozes in a kind of timeless vacuum. Meal schedules become irrelevant. So too do otherwise precisely timed walks. And why not? The moral imperative for any good caninaturalist is to get outside and observe the world. But, really, that’s only interesting when there’s a world to observe.

Sure, there’s plenty to see outside right now: incredibly lush trees, the first blackeyed susans of the year, armies of slugs and earthworms, those intrepid whitewater paddlers. These sorts of things, though, have never really had the draw other species have had for Ari. This damp and dark has sent everyone retreating for dens and caves--a little bit of cozy dry in an otherwise soggy world.

It's almost as if Ari's favorite creatures—the martins and deer, the squirrels and neighborhood cats—seem to have come to the same conclusion she has: So far, this summer has gone anywhere but to the dogs.

Our last week or so has been beautiful here, so sorry you are still in the muck. The rivers are higher than they have been in 4 years though since we have finally exited the drought that has plagued our area.

As a canine naturalist, you will appreciate that we kept waking our humans and barking and wooing last night. After much grumbling, the humans gave us a little credit this morning when they went outside and found black bear scat in our driveway. So maybe we weren't barking at the wind. Humans!

Good evening AriRain has increased to Japan. And, the mushroom has grown on the road. To our regret, it is not in the mushroom that can be eaten. And, a cold temperature and a hot temperature should mix and it take care of health. It falls in love the light of the sun on a wonderful weekend. ：D

Tell Ari I feel her pain! I was there in Maine for part of this time and it sure put a damper on my bird watching and photography! I came home and wrote a post caled "Maine in Green and Gray." I know you understand!

Ari in Print

Ari on TV

About Me

Kathryn teaches Environmental Writing at Unity College. Bung Ari Jan Gab is an adolescent husky/jindo mix passionately committed to splashing in mud puddles, shredding paper, and proving that everything is digestible. She lives in a log cabin in the foothills of Maine with her human friends, Kathryn and Greg, and two rescue cats. Her current research interests include the ecology of vernal pools, the digestive processes of foxes, and the comings and goings of other dogs.